


I don't mind if I'm with you

by janie_tangerine



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (they're smitten I don't make the rules), Birthday Fluff, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Canon Universe, Card Games, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Explicit Sexual Content, Five plus one things fic, Flower Crowns, Friends to Lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, I Don't Even Know, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Rimming, Slow Dancing, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, good thing he's bent on fixing it, in which jaskier has to quell his murder instincts concerning how much geralt's life sucks, you'll need a dentist after this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23468632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: or: five times plus one in which Jaskier finds out that Geralt is missing on good life experiences and promptly sees to fix it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 208
Kudos: 2080
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection, All Time Favourites, Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	I don't mind if I'm with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deerna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerna/gifts).



> *waves* long story short: I plotted this for the last week Previous Month's Writing challenge with my lovely teammate here except that I didn't finish it in time because it's LONG and so I didn't enter it but here it is anyway because I was committed to the idea xD tldr: the original prompt was 'regretting what didn't happen and put a remedy to it' and I thought about it with this ship for a moment, I decided this format was perfect and so... here have 11k of tooth-rotting fluff of the hopefully wholesome kind. God these two idiots in love will be the death of me and I don't regret it for a second TT
> 
> Other than that: the title is from brian fallon's newest bless his title skills, nothing belongs to me whatsoever and here have at it. *saunters back downwards*

_one: playing cards_

The fire still hasn’t gone out and they have just finished eating when Jaskier decides to see if he has anything to pass the time this fine evening — there are no monsters in this one specific part of forest, the next town is two days away, Geralt isn’t dead tired on account of not having had jobs for the last few days (which is why they’re heading to the next town) and it’s still early. No point in going to sleep soon, and he doesn’t really feel like composing, not when he’s done that in his head for the entirety of the day and he doesn’t feel like writing any of it down.

So, he opens his bag, wondering if he has _anything_ with they can use to kill the time, and — oh. He _does_ have those Gwent cards with him. He doesn’t even remember bringing them with, but — why not.

“Geralt?”

“Yes?”

“Fancy a game?”

He holds out the cards.

Geralt looks at him like he has just asked something in some unintelligible language.

“You want to play _Gwent_?”

“… Well, just if you want to. If you don’t, it’s fine. I just thought it could be something to pass a few hours.”

Geralt’s eyes narrow. “But — why?”

“… Why _not_?”

“Why would you play Gwent if you didn’t need money?”

Jaskier isn’t sure he heard that right…

Except that _he thinks he heard that right,_ indeed.

“Because… it’s fun? I don’t play cards just if I have to gain money. Geralt, don’t tell me that you’ve never played a card game — this or whatever — just for the fun of it.”

The moment Jaskier says _the fun of it_ , Geralt’s eyes go even _wider_.

“… No?” He finally asks, sounding tentative. “Why would I?”

“ _Why_ — because it’s fun? Because you kill time with it? Because beating your friends at _something_ just to say you did is a thing… you just do?”

Geralt keeps on staring at him as if he has just grown two heads, and suddenly Jaskier remembers that if the man has any friends he could play the damned game with… it would be _other witchers_ and he has a feeling that cards aren’t exactly a common feature in Kaer Morhen.

“I — no. I never did. Never saw the point in it. And who was going to _play cards_ with me for fun anyway?” Geralt almost scoffs, and Jaskier _can_ hear what he hasn’t said, and on one side he just wants to fucking give the man a hug because that was… just… _sad_ , but on the other he doesn’t think Geralt would take it too nicely.

Well then.

“Then, my friend,” Jaskier proclaims, grabbing one of his dirty chemises that he has to wash when the get to town anyway and putting it on the ground, “it’s high time we put a remedy to it because there is _no_ way I can let you, in good conscience, keep on living without having fucking played a game for the sake of it.”

“Fine,” Geralt says, not sounding exactly convinced, “but I still don’t get it. I mean, so what, one of us wins and…?”

“And the other will feel hurt in his manly pride and will ask for revenge, and by the time we’re at game number four it’s going to be a question of honor, and by six we’ll have forgotten about it and it will be time to go to bed. Come on, what’s to lose?”

Geralt shrugs and holds out a hand. “Fine,” he says, “not that I had anything better to do. I’ll shuffle.”

Jaskier hands him the cards and lets him shuffle, then proceeds to _utterly_ destroy him at the first round using each single dirty trick he can remember that’s just short of cheating.

“Fuck you,” Geralt replies the moment Jaskier declares his victory, and Jaskier _grins_.

“See,” he says, “now do _you_ want revenge?”

Geralt goes still for a moment, looking at the cards, then at him, realizing that yes, he _had_ been getting into it. Then he huffs.

“Right. _You_ fold now.”

As Jaskier had predicted, Geralt wipes the floor with him at round two.

“Oh,” he says as he hands him back the cards for re-shuffle, “you’re _on_.”

Geralt scoffs. It looks _good_ on him, Jaskier decides, and by the time they’re at game six, the moon is tall in the sky and they have tied, so they decide to give it up and to go to bed. Jaskier says nothing as he puts away the cards nor as he gets into the bedroll.

But then —

“Jaskier?” Geralt says tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“I — I get it now, I think,” he says, sounding… awed.

“Well then,” Jaskier says, “next time you want to give it a go, feel free to.”

“Maybe I will,” Geralt says.

Good.

Jaskier goes to sleep feeling very, _very_ smug about this.

_two: eating out_

Jaskier is _absolutely_ sure that whatever stew they served Geralt at the inn they’re staying at is _not_ the same as his own.

He can see it just from _looking_ at it, never mind smelling. If he smells it he feels like _not_ eating it anymore, and he doesn’t know how the _fuck_ Geralt can eat that given that he has a more sensitive sense of smell than his own.

He also knows _why_ — the owner looked like a complete prick, and he’s not surprised if they served Geralt the stew made with the leftovers. Still —

“How’s your food?” Jaskier asks.

“Adequate,” Geralt shrugs. “Why?”

“What do you mean with _adequate_? Humor me a moment,” Jaskier presses on, deciding that he _will_ discuss this with the innkeeper regardless. It was already bad enough to see this happening when he hadn’t realized that when it came to _his_ feelings for Geralt _friendship_ didn’t exactly cut it, but now that he has admitted to himself that he’s completely fucking _smitten_ , it’s just worse. No one wants to watch the person they’re in (most likely unrequited) love with eat shitty food on account of not being served the same as everyone else.

Geralt shrugs. “What does it have to mean? It’s nourishment, it’s edible, it’s not raw. It’s adequate.”

Jaskier doesn’t even deign it with an answer and reaches forward, stealing a spoonful and swallowing it down.

As he had predicted, the meat is just this side short of rotten — it’s _not_ , but it would have been tomorrow — and he almost throws it up on the ground at once.

“ _This_ ,” Jaskier says, “is not fucking edible. I wouldn’t feed that to a pig, never mind _you_. You know what, I can’t even eat anymore, take mine.”

Geralt just _stares_ at him as Jaskier swaps their plates.

“You don’t have to —”

“I _know_ that, now please eat something that’s actually halfway decent. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the difference.”

Geralt tries the new meat. It’s _obvious_ he notices the difference, even if he tries to school his face into not giving it out.

Then he shrugs. “Fine,” he says, “this is better, but — _that_ is my average. It’s fine.”

Jaskier thinks he wants to throw up again.

“Geralt,” he says, “ _please_ tell me that at some point you _have_ eaten decently.”

Geralt shrugs. “For _your_ standards? I guess that when I worked for nobles I had food that would be… what you call adequate. But it’s fine. It has to keep me up.”

Jaskier is about to ask what did they eat at Kaer Morhen, then he doesn’t because from what he knows it’s obvious that while it probably was _better_ than this, witcher cooking skills are hardly refined.

This is _worse_ than the cards.

“You know what,” he says, “never mind. I’ll go get ready for my set.”

Geralt nods and finishes his food.

Jaskier goes to play his set and makes sure to give as many encores as people ask for even if usually he tries not to linger until the small hours of the morning.

He thinks he needs the spare coin.

He needs a _lot_ of spare coin for what he has in plans.

— —

Three days later, he has indeed gathered enough spare coin that he can afford what he has in mind to do.

“Right,” he tells Geralt in the morning as he packs, “leave it for now.”

“We should get going —” Geralt starts.

“We _will_ ,” Jaskier says, “ _after_ lunch.”

“… Jaskier, I can’t lose the morning to —”

“We are _not_ having it here. Now we’re going to the bathhouse, get ourselves a clean-up, coming up here, dressing like civilized people and _then_ we’re having lunch someplace good.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, “whatever you’re thinking, _someplace good_ is most likely someplace _I_ am not welcome, so —”

“I took care of that,” he says. “Come on, indulge me this once?”

“As if I usually don’t,” Geralt says, but then he stops packing and follows him out of the inn.

Good.

Two hours later, they’re back on the town’s main street, Geralt following Jaskier until he takes a couple of turns and he reaches a certain tavern that one of his old classmates at Oxenfurt used to rave about back in the day — he was from here and he swore that they had the best meat cuts in the area, for a price that was absolutely worth every piece of coin. So he had come on the first day they stopped here to talk to the owner and see if there was a chance in hell they would serve both him and Geralt, and the owner wasn’t at least the kind of arse the innkeeper is, except that his customers could have been and they were more numerous at dinner, which is why Jaskier had agreed that they would come for lunch and sit in a corner, and when he told the man how much he was intending to spend, _well,_ he had agreed soon enough.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says under his breath, “this is — _fancy_ , they will never —”

“Have some faith and just let me handle it,” Jaskier replies, and ten minutes later they are indeed sitting in a nice, secluded quiet corner and the maid showed up with some appetizers — it’s small sausages and cheese served with honey, four servings for each, and when she asks what will they have, Jaskier smiles back at her and says that they’re the two people who are supposed to have _a taste of everything_.

She smiles back knowingly.

“Oh, that’s the two of you. Then I will be back with your food as soon as it’s ready.”

She leaves and Jaskier moves his attention back to Geralt… who is eating one of the small cheese portions like he can’t believe he’s tasting it.

“What,” he says, “it’s good?”

Geralt nods, saying nothing as he swallows it.

He also doesn’t talk that much at all when the maid comes back with a portion of anything Jaskier had seen two days ago on the menu that seemed actually _nice_ and not what they could have gotten in inns, which means that it takes them a good hour to get through all of the food they’re brought, not that Geralt _can’t_ eat all of that especially when he’s been barely having the minimum for the last two weeks, and by the time the maid comes back with a mix of lemoncakes, honeycakes and sweet tarts to close up their lunch, Geralt looks like he’s about to cry just looking at them.

Jaskier, who _knows_ he rarely gets anything sweet out of sugary treats being _unnecessary fancies_ , just grabs a lemoncake and eats it without a care in the world, and by the time they’ve split all of them they’re both most likely full — he stands up to pay, absolutely forbidding Geralt to stand when he tries to, and he comes out of the tavern with an empty coin pouch, but damn if it hadn’t been worth it.

Geralt follows him looking like he can’t quite conceive what just happened.

“Hey,” Jaskier asks when they’re on the way back to the inn, “are you all right?”

“Yes,” Geralt says quietly. “I just — I think I get what you meant before.”

“Well,” Jaskier replies, tentatively patting his back for a moment, “you _can_ have nice food once in a while, you know. And you don’t have to be fine with _almost_ rotten meat because it’ll get you up in the morning. No one should. And if you want to do it again at some point, we _can_ afford it once in a while.”

Geralt nods, obviously thinking it over.

Jaskier lets him and doesn’t push it.

But the next town they’re at, he _is_ getting food for the both of them without even thinking about it.

_three: taking a free day_

Jaskier _would_ have said something before Geralt _fainted in the middle of the road_ , but having been told that _everything was fine_ every time he suggested slowing down he had given up on it, figuring that either Geralt was right and he was overreacting or at some point he _would_ end up having to stop out of sheer exhaustion.

Of course it turned out being the latter option and Geralt should just be thankful he was close by or he’d have probably cracked his head on the ground, which then he would have dismissed as _being fine_ , and so that’s how Jaskier dragged him to a small clearing on the side of the road, propped him up against a tree and started getting dinner ready even if the sun is still not set and they could have gone ahead for a while yet.

When Geralt wakes up, it’s dusk and he looks so disoriented for a moment that Jaskier wonders if he _really_ needs a healer, but then he takes in his surroundings and falls back against the tree, taking deep breaths.

“Welcome back,” Jaskier says, “ _don’t_ move, I’m pretty sure you’ll faint again if you do. Here, have some water and eat something.”

Geralt has the presence of mind to keep his mouth shut and do just that.

Then he hands back the empty bowl Jaskier had given him, and —

“Sorry about that,” he croaks, not quite looking at him.

“… Are you _apologizing_ because you fainted?”

“We’re stuck here now,” Geralt shrugs. “Which means we are losing time, so yes, I am.”

Jaskier just… stares at him, wishing he had followed that reasoning.

“And so what?” He asks tentatively. “It’s not like we are in a hurry.”

He can see at once that Geralt had _not_ considered that at all.

“We… aren’t?”

“… No? I don’t have any commitments, you don’t have a contract, we’re heading for the next town to see if we can find any, but it’s not like it changes anything if we get there tomorrow or the day after. And for that matter, let me think back on it —”

“Jaskier, let it —”

“No, no, sorry, but we are doing this now. So, let me see, in the last two weeks you have worked, hm, _six_ contracts for which you needed to drink enough of your potions that you had to replenish in the last town we were in, three of them were pretty much back to back, you have barely eaten and I know you lied to me about how shitty the food was at half of the inns we stayed at, then there was that town where they wouldn’t have us and you slept in the open _just after_ slaying that griffin, and on top of that when you weren’t healing you pretty much argued that we should go ahead even if you weren’t _finished_ healing… and now you’re shocked that you fainted? I mean, someone who isn’t you would have done that at day two.”

Geralt looks about to protest. Then he shuts his mouth. Then he tries again —

“It wouldn’t be right,” he finally says.

“… To rest?” Jaskier replies, trying to not sound like horror is taking hold of him.

Geralt shrugs. “And why would I? I don’t need it.”

If Jaskier ever goes with him to Kaer Morhen for the winter, he _is_ having words with the other witchers… not that he has a feeling they’d answer differently.

“Just — humor me a moment. You’re telling me that you haven’t, like, spent a day doing nothing and relaxing just for the sake of it since you got roped into your current profession?”

Geralt is looking at him like he’s speaking gibberish.

This is so much _worse_ than the card game.

“… No? What would be the point? We don’t… do that.”

He’s saying _that_ like it’s some kind of exotic past time that is forbidden to him or something, and Jaskier is about to lose his shit here, but he has a feeling that it would be useless and that Geralt wouldn’t _get_ it if he did.

“You know what,” Jaskier says, “next town. If there are no contracts we’re taking a couple days there, if there are you can take care of them _and_ then we take a couple of days _and_ I’m making you see the point.”

“Jaskier, I don’t —”

“What, partake in horrid activities such as sleeping in or relaxing for a day without thinking about the next contract? Never mind. We’re doing that. Just indulge me for once.”

“I — whatever. I’m too tired for this,” Geralt sighs, turning on his side and attempting to sleep.

Jaskier lets him.

He hasn’t said _no_ , after all.

— —

The next town has no contracts, which is all good as far as Jaskier is concerned — he pays a room for two days and the moment _that_ is set, he also pays for a bath, which leaves Geralt still looking at him like he doesn’t get it.

“I don’t _need_ one,” he protests. “I washed this morning.”

“In a river. After the two weeks you had. Believe me, you can have one just because you feel like it, not because you have to get monster guts off your hair.”

Geralt still looks at him like he’s speaking another language, but he doesn’t press and the moment he does sink into the water Jaskier can see that he looks _relieved_ as soon as his legs slip inside the tub.

“ _I don’t need it_ ,” he parrots, reaching for soap. “Come on, I can do your hair.”

“I don’t —”

“I _know_ you don’t need it, but if you have to relax then I _can_ do that. No one minds, least of all me. So?”

Geralt says nothing for a moment, then sighs and tips his head back.

Jaskier says nothing and starts lathering his hair slowly, his fingers undoing knots and brushing away all the dirt Geralt picked up on the road, leaving it white and soft and luscious after he runs some more oils through it, and then leaves Geralt to dry up.

“Right,” he says, “I’m getting us food.”

“What — I can come downstairs, you know.”

“Yes, and if you see that they give you shitty food you won’t protest, while if _I_ ask they won’t say a word. Just get comfortable and wait.”

He leaves the room without giving him a chance to reply and comes back up with two bowls of _good_ stew — when he opens the door, Geralt is sitting on the bed… _sharpening one of the swords_.

“Away with that,” Jaskier says, “you’re supposed to relax and that blade is _already sharp_.”

“You can’t know —”

“Put that out and have some food, you can do that the day after tomorrow.”

“… And why not tomorrow?” Geralt asks as he does put the sword away and joins him at the small table where he put their food.

“Because tomorrow we’re _not_ working. And before you ask what we should be doing then, I don’t know. Anything but _that_. We can play cards all day or take a walk around the market or whatever. As long as you don’t worry about killing monsters and I don’t try to figure out the next composition.”

Geralt keeps on staring at him like he doesn’t get it, but then he shrugs and says that for one day it can’t hurt to indulge in his nonsense.

At least, when after dinner Jaskier proposes that they play a few rounds of cards, he doesn’t say no.

Geralt wins four out of six times. Jaskier lets him secretly gloat — he _could_ see that he was trying not to — and goes to bed trying to figure out what they could actually do in the morning.

— —

What he does in the morning is slipping downstairs and bringing them both some fruit and tea for breakfast upstairs after telling Geralt to just go the fuck back to sleep when he tried to get up at six in the morning, good thing that there was just one bed so he could physically tug him down, and patience if they’re not sharing it the way Jaskier wants to. Geralt, of course, hadn’t been expecting it whatsoever, but he eats it and says nothing, so Jaskier chalks it up as a win.

Then he tells him to get dressed _without armor_ and proclaims that they’re headed to the market.

“But _why_?” Geralt asks as they head out of the inn. “We don’t _need_ anything at the market.”

“I know,” Jaskier says, “doesn’t mean there couldn’t be something you _want_ that you might buy if you like it.”

Geralt stares at him, then shrugs and follows him.

Jaskier takes care to linger on as many stalls as he can just for the sake of wasting time, and at some point he tells Geralt to go look around and that they’ll meet half an hour later.

Geralt goes with a not-so-convinced nod and Jaskier moves on to check out a few clothing stalls. He buys a new jerkin that would _perfectly_ replace the lilac one that ended up stained in kikimora blood he couldn’t wash out and a new set of strings as he’s somewhat sure that, elven as they are, the ones on his lute don’t have a lot of life left in them, buys also a few more strawberry tarts at a food stand because he _knows_ Geralt could use to eat something extra especially after his fainting spell, and when they meet he’s not surprised at all that Geralt _has_ bought… new brushes and new reins for Roach and nothing for himself.

Still, better than nothing. Jaskier pushes a tart in his hands, tells him to eat it while they go back to the inn to leave their things and _then_ they can find a nice tavern.

They do, and while Jaskier doesn’t get the full menu also because he hasn’t played for coin specifically for _that_ the previous three days, they still have a nicer meal than their usual, and then — well. It’s a warm sunny day, and the woods just outside town are _lovely_ , and so Jaskier drags Geralt to the first nice clearing he finds that has sunlight, flowers and soft grass, and declares that it’s the perfect place for him to get his revenge at Gwent, taking out the cards.

Geralt scoffs and proceeds on wiping the floor with him the first two times, but Jaskier wins the next four, and by the time both of them are tired of it a few hours have passed but there is still sunlight left.

“Ever made flower crowns?” Jaskier asks, eyeing some of the primroses around them.

Geralt looks _absolutely_ flabbergasted at the suggestion. “No,” he says, and then he breathes in sharply and adds, “not in a very long time and _I_ didn’t know how to make them, for that matter.”

“Sounds like the right time to learn,” Jaskier says, immediately reaching for a couple of the primroses.

“I highly doubt _I_ could —”

“ _Everyone_ can,” Jaskier cuts him off. “Come on, do you have anything better to do?”

Admittedly, it takes Geralt a good twenty minutes to figure out how to wave stems without breaking them because he puts too much force in it, but when he does… well. Jaskier had just gone and made one with the primroses only and told Geralt to just go with whatever _he_ wanted.

Turns out, it’s _pretty_ — it has primroses, buttercups, a dandelion or two and a few daisies braided in.

“Nice,” Jaskier says, “you’ve got a talent. Are you going to wear it?”

“Sure as hell _no_ ,” Geralt refuses, looking like he’s about to throw it away.

Jaskier stops him and puts on both of them, declaring that there is no way he could let such a pretty thing go to waste.

Geralt’s face goes _slightly_ redder at that.

They don’t go back until the sun is about to set, and Jaskier keeps the flowers on his head at the second nice tavern they find where they’re found another secluded spot and served soup that’s definitely not made with stale ingredients and wine that doesn’t taste like water, and by the time they’re back at their inn —

Well. Geralt doesn’t look _that_ strung-up, the bags under his eyes are maybe a tad less dark and he’s not holding himself up _so_ coiled.

“So,” Jaskier asks, putting the flower crowns on his nightstand, “do you get the point now?”

“It — it was nice,” Geralt concedes. “And I guess I feel less tired.”

“See?” Jaskier asks. “You _can_ take a day or two every couple of weeks. It’s only good for you and you don’t risk fainting in the middle of the road or a job.” He moves towards the bed and squeezes Geralt’s shoulder. “It’s _fine_. No one is going to learn about it from me, for that matter.”

He about gasps when Geralt’s hand tentatively covers his.

“Thanks,” he says.

He can barely hear it but he _does_.

He smiles, patting the man’s shoulder again before taking his hand away, as much as he wishes he could let it linger for a bit longer. “Don’t mention it. Just tell me when you feel like it next time.”

Geralt nods minutely and Jaskier decides he’ll take it.

But it _really_ , really feels wrong that the man has been around what, a century, and hadn’t realized he could take a day off until Jaskier basically strong-armed him into it.

He doesn’t think he will ever ask Geralt for details when it comes to how witcher training works.

He’s sure he doesn’t want to know.

_four: celebrating birthdays_

It's been a few months.

They’re on one of their now monthly two days of doing nothing, and no one is more delighted than Jaskier when it concerns _this_ development. Not that Geralt ever _talked_ about it, but just knowing that he grasped the concept is good enough for him, and so he never pressed.

So.

They’re taking a stroll through the city they’re currently in, resting after Geralt cashed in his last contract yesterday and Jaskier has cashed in plenty of tips as he played for the audience at their inn, when they see a flock of children giggling on the other side of the street. It doesn’t look like they’re fighting with each other, so Jaskier means to just go ahead, but then he notices that Geralt has sent a wistful look in their direction —

Which then has turned outright confused when he sees that most of them are giving one boy little gifts or flowers that he’s putting inside a jute bag with a grin that takes the entirety of his face.

“Hey,” Jaskier asks, “something wrong?”

“Uh, nothing,” Geralt lies. “Just, I was wondering what was going on. But they look all right, so —”

“We can find out,” Jaskier says, but when he heads towards the children, Geralt _doesn’t_ follow.

He doesn’t force him, not when he knows that if any parents saw him talking to them they would most likely run him out of town, and instead he approaches the kids with a smile on his face, asks what’s the occasion, learns that it’s the birthday of the kid who got all the trinkets and offers to sing him a song of his choice to celebrate. The kid is overjoyed, Jaskier is only too happy to oblige him, and after he’s done all the kids smile at him and thank him before wandering off.

He goes back to the corner where Geralt stayed hidden all this time.

“It was only that boy’s birthday,” Jaskier says. “Quite adorable that his friends were all giving him gifts at the same time. I suppose they went to find some sweets. So, nothing anyone needed to step in for.”

Geralt mutters something undefined in agreement, nodding, and then heads the other way.

Except that he had been in a good mood until ten minutes ago.

Now he seems… melancholic.

And since it’s their free day and Jaskier doesn’t want him to _sulk_ throughout it, he supposes it’s time he gets that out of him.

“Hey,” he says after a while, “did that… I mean, you seem upset.”

“I’m not,” Geralt lies. Jaskier can hear it.

“You _are_. I can read a room, you know. And you looked less uncomfortable when you fainted in the middle of the road.”

Geralt shakes his head and moves on.

Jaskier doesn’t press, but fuck if he hates that Geralt’s _nice_ mood seems to have gone sour for good, and he wishes he could do _something_ but if the man doesn’t even talk, good luck with _that_.

When, two hours of aimless walking around the town later, Geralt hasn’t said a word, Jaskier decides that maybe he _should_ get to the bottom of this.

“Geralt, for — something’s bothering you and it’s obvious, so just spill. It was a _birthday_ , nothing out of the ordinary. What’s the problem?”

“For _you_ ,” Geralt says, and then he suddenly looks horrified at having even _said_ that.

Jaskier notices a bench nearby and he’s quick to grab Geralt’s arm and tug him down to sit on it.

“ _For me_?” He parrots. “Geralt, don’t tell me that you don’t —” He starts, but the moment he sees Geralt’s mortified eyes, he knows the answer. “But you _don’t_ , do you?” He whispers, feeling _his_ mood turn sour at once.

Geralt shakes his head. “No,” he admits, not quite looking at him. “Not since…” He stops, gritting his teeth, and then he spits it out. “Not since my own damned mother left me on the side of the road for Vesemir to find me, and what little I remember of the ones _before_ is honestly not a good memory in retrospective, and I don’t know why I even _care_ because I shouldn’t and I never fucking did. Now can we please — do _anything else_ that’s not talking about this?”

Jaskier could agree at once, but —

But he doesn’t think he can do that.

He never even _thought_ of it, because — well. When he was a child himself he _did_ celebrate, as much as he hated his family’s pompous feasts that he only looked forward to in order to question the bard about the newest ballads, and in Oxenfurt he’d treat his friends out for a drink and they would gift him something, either a song or a poem or new quills or various other trinkets, and now… well, now that he thinks about it he’s never spent _his_ birthday with Geralt because it’s during the winter, but as he’s usually in Oxenfurt or staying in the same town, he treats people for drinks if he can and if he’s on his own he’ll treat _himself_ to a nicer dinner and buy himself a new expensive book and so on. He doesn’t make a show of it, but — he _does_ like to celebrate, even in little ways.

He had figured Geralt would do the same.

Not that — that _he doesn’t celebrate it at all_. Not that, in retrospective, it makes sense — knowing him, it’s entirely more likely that he’d ignore it. Still —

“If you want,” Jaskier says quietly. “But — that’s dreadful.”

Geralt shrugs. “I think you overestimate the amount of people who would care for such a celebration, not counting the fact that for _us_ it makes no sense to do it.”

He stands up and Jaskier follows him at once, except that he just can’t shake from his head the fact that Geralt has been around longer than Jaskier’s been alive and… he hasn’t celebrated his damned birthday for most of his life.

It’s so fucking sad he thinks that if he tried to write a song about it people would stop listening midway because they couldn’t handle how tragic it would be.

The fact that Jaskier is completely gone over the man and that Geralt has absolutely no idea of that and most likely wouldn’t believe him at face value if he straight-up told him is not helping here, because it would be bad enough if they were just _friends_ , but when Jaskier’s fucking head over heels for him, it’s just —

Ah, fuck it.

He waits until they’re in an empty alley before he puts a hand on Geralt’s _tense_ arm.

“What,” Geralt says, tiredly, “is the matter now? Just let this go, it’s _idiotic_ —”

“Geralt, for — it’s _not_ and it’s obviously hurting you, which is, may I point it out, _perfectly normal_ because anyone would feel like shit because of that and _you_ aren’t an exception to that, so — I know you don’t want to _talk_ about it, so I’ll just ask the one question that needs answering here. Do you _want_ to do something for your own damned birthday or not?”

Geralt just glares at him. “That’s not the point. It makes no sense and it would be ridiculous and it’s for other people, not —”

“Geralt, for _once_ in your life don’t think about what’s for other people and what it is that witchers do and don’t do and just tell me straight. Do you _want_ to or not?”

The way Geralt’s glare turns into a pained look _will_ be what makes sure Jaskier _will_ punch in the face the next person he hears saying that witchers don’t have feelings within his hearing.

“And what if I do?” He replies, barely audible. “It would be nonsensical. And it’s usually just me and Roach, _when_ I remember it.”

“… Why wouldn’t you remember it?”

“Because most times I make sure I’m on a job on that day.”

 _So I don’t have to think about it_ , he doesn’t say.

Jaskier wants to scream.

He doesn’t, and instead he clears his throat. “So when is it?”

“… _What_?”

“You heard me the first time. _When_ is it?”

Geralt just stares at him for a long moment.

Then —

“I don’t remember the real one.”

 _What_.

“It’s been too long. And in Kaer Morhen, to count, they started from the day each person arrived at the fortress.”

Jaskier is going to punch a wall, at this rate.

“All right, _fine_ , and when is this infamous day?”

Turns out, it’s some two months from now.

Jaskier promises to drop the conversation for the rest of the day, but as he follows Geralt out into the main street, determined to find something to do that might distract him, he doesn’t forget _that_.

Oh, _not at all_.

— —

When the day in question approaches, he hopes with all his might that they’ll have it free.

Of course, Geralt gets a contract _the day before_ , and it’s for _three_ harpies, which means he’s most likely going to be away for the entire day _and_ part of the next one.

Jaskier is about to tell him to postpone going, after all the harpies aren’t currently a danger to _people_ , just cattle, but he shakes his head and says that if he takes it he’s going to finish it first thing, and so he goes and Jaskier is left cursing the heavens knowing that he’ll be out for the entire night and won’t be back before the evening.

On his birthday that’s not even technically _his birthday_.

Well.

At least they’ll have the evening, he decides, and sets on making the best of what he has at disposal.

Which is… well, not much, because he certainly cannot throw a banquet or _invite_ anyone — it’s not like Geralt has friends that aren’t other witchers or that sorceress Triss he mentioned once who certainly doesn’t live anywhere near _here_. But he’s nothing if not persistent, so he goes out in the morning, finds a baker and buys a selection of small lemon, honey, strawberry and blueberry cakes, assuring himself that they’re freshly baked and just out of the oven, then goes back to the inn and places them carefully on the only table. Task accomplished, he goes out to find good wine and finds a decent enough vintage without too much hassle; with that bagged, he proceeds on to the next part of the plan.

When he walks inside the local blacksmith, the man has ready for him the new dagger he had decided to get Geralt as a present because while he doesn’t lack for weapons he had ruined his best one during a hunt a couple of weeks ago and hadn’t managed to replace it yet. He pays for it, bags it along with the wine, and leaves the shop at midday. Still too long to wait, he thinks.

He leaves both dagger and wine in the inn, after wrapping the dagger in a nice silken small bag he had bought for the occasion, then he decides that the room is too spare and goes out again. It’s still early, so he heads out, finds a meadow, gathers as many flowers as he can fit in his bag and that wouldn’t overdo it and goes back to the inn, where he spends the next hour or so carefully decorating the room with them — some on the windows, some on the chimney, some on the table where they’re supposed to eat, enough that when walking inside it _does_ look like there is _some_ kind of celebration going on. He orders a bath, knowing Geralt will want it and that he can heat the water himself in case it goes cold, gets his usual salts and oils ready, and at that point it’s dusk and Geralt will most likely be here soon.

So, he goes downstairs, but then thinks back on getting food _here_ because the innkeeper _absolutely_ served Geralt shitty beer yesterday, and he takes a bit more time to find a nice tavern and pay extra to bring away his food. It _does_ take a bit, but he’s rewarded with what looks like excellent stew, and so he heads back to the inn —

To find the door of his room open.

Jaskier swallows and walks inside to find Geralt standing still with his back to him, standing so still he could be a statue, sword fallen to the ground. He looks moderately bloody and very dusty, which is a good thing, but the fact that _he’s not moving_ … well. It’s — not how Jaskier had imagined this going. He puts his bowls of food to the sides, on a chair, then clears his throat.

“Er, Geralt…?” He asks, and a moment later Geralt _does_ turn towards him, amber eyes widened in what seems like utter shock, not even surprise.

“What is this about?” Geralt replies, voice barely audible.

“Unless I got the day wrong but I don’t think it is… well. Happy birthday?” He wishes he had been more eloquent, but — but honestly, he hadn’t expected Geralt to look like he’s about to faint at the sight of a few flowers, the gift on his bed and the wine on the table — the cakes are on the fireplace, so he probably hasn’t even noticed _them_.

“You… remembered it,” Geralt whispers, making it sound like it’s some kind of deep dark secret, not like… well. A _normal_ thing everyone would do for their friends. Or _the people they’re in love with_ , not that Geralt knows that.

“Well, _someone_ had to,” he tries to joke, and then moves closer taking in how he looks — dusty, bloody but not _his_ blood, a bit banged up, but not too much. “Hey,” he says when Geralt keeps on _staring_ as if he can’t even begin to put two and two together, “it’s not even that much but I can try something better next time. Just — you know what, you can take that bath, just heat the water and it should be good to go, put on some clean clothing and then we can — just, go with it. I got food at the nice tavern over there, that wine should be nice and you look tired as hell, I swear I won’t pester you for details just this once —”

Now.

Jaskier _has_ dreamed more than once about Geralt _actually_ initiating contact when it comes to him that’s not, well, grabbing his arm to drag him out of harm’s way.

But he wouldn’t have once in his life guessed that it would happen like _this_ , with Geralt making a pained noise in his throat and putting his dusty hands on Jaskier’s shoulders before drawing him into the kind of embrace that only someone who hasn’t hugged anyone in years would give, and his arms are fucking shaking as he does, and since Jaskier is _not_ an idiot he’s quick to reach up and hug him back, _properly_.

“Hey,” Jaskier says, “it’s _fine_ , not that I’m complaining, but —”

He stops when he realizes that Geralt is fucking _crying_.

Against his shoulder.

In short, harsh sobs, as if he barely even realizes he’s doing it.

He tentatively moves a hand to his dirty hair, clearing his throat again. “You know, this is why you should have done this more often.”

Geralt half-laughs _while crying_ and then it becomes stronger, and at this point Jaskier ends up dragging the both of them to the bed so they can actually sit on it, and he keeps on carding his fingers through Geralt’s hair because _what else can he do_ , until Geralt seems to be done and moves back enough to look at him in the eyes.

Well, he _does_ look like shit, pale dirty bloodied skin and bags under his eyes and tear tracks all over his face, but he’s also looking at Jaskier in a way that makes his stomach curl on itself in the _good_ way.

“I’m —”

“If you _dare_ apologize for having been emotional, I’m kicking you out,” Jaskier huffs, and Geralt closes his mouth. _Of course_.

“All right,” he says. “Uh, I — I didn’t expect it.”

“I gathered,” Jaskier says, “and we need to put a remedy to it, but — hey. Really, you should enjoy whatever’s left of the day. Heat yourself that water and then we can move ahead with the plan, how about it?”

Geralt nods minutely, going still the moment Jaskier dares kissing the side of his face _just_ because he can, and then he starts disrobing before heating the water and slipping into the tub with a moan. Jaskier goes to put the food over the chimney so it’s warm when they’re done, then tells Geralt that since they’re celebrating this time he’s _also_ braiding his hair and he’s not accepting otherwise, and Geralt hums in a maybe pleased way as he lets him, even if he’s a lot less talkative than usual… but then again, he _would_ be, he figures.

By the time he’s done braiding the hair into a neat plait, it’s been enough that the food must be warm, so he lets Geralt dry off while he gets dinner served and puts the tarts on the fireplace to warm up, too.

When Geralt sits at the table, he’s wearing old but clean clothes, the armor carefully placed against the wall, and at least he doesn’t tell Jaskier he shouldn’t have gone out of his way for the food.

Which is _pretty damn good_ by the way.

“You… _aren’t_ asking about the hunt,” Geralt finally blurts while they’re halfway into their dinner.

“Well, I told you I wouldn’t, just this once,” Jaskier smiles back. “Unless you want to tell me. Honestly, it’s _your_ birthday and there are what, four hours left of it, and I know you don’t _relish_ giving me details. You know, the point is that you should enjoy yourself.”

Geralt mutters something in agreement again, then says nothing for a while as he finishes his food, but he also looks dead tired, so Jaskier doesn’t press before moving the empty bowl away along with his.

“Right,” he says, “so, first of all, some wine because _at least_ we should toast. And secondly…” He goes to grab the tarts, which are now pleasantly warm, and puts them on the table.

“How — how _many_ did you get?”

“Twenty,” Jaskier says, “but I’m good with having one for each type. _You_ , on the other hand, have been on a hunt _and_ you ate like shit this past week, I know you _could_ eat them all.”

“It’s too much —”

“It’s _your_ birthday, not mine, there is no limit to the sugar you can have. Just eat them, how about that?”

Geralt gives him a nod as Jaskier takes his few cakes and leaves him the rest. And it’s _obvious_ that he likes them, considering how his mouth curls up in an almost-there smile as he swallows, and Jaskier keeps his mouth shut as he makes his way through the entire table. He goes to get the pouch with the dagger, putting it on the ground near his chair, then pours wine for the both of them in two cups and makes them full.

“Oh,” Geralt says, tasting it, “that’s… very good. You —”

“I _had_ to because it was the minimum,” Jaskier cuts him. “Cheers.” He drinks his share, satisfied with his purchase as soon as he tastes it, and then pours another before he grabs the dagger and slips it towards Geralt.

“… What is this now?” He asks.

Jaskier _will_ murder someone because of this at some point. Watch him.

“You know that birthdays require gifts?”

“I… thought _that_ was it?” Geralt replies half-sheepishly.

Jaskier pushes the dagger further down. “Birthdays require _gifts_ , Geralt, and I thought songs weren’t appropriate since I write them every other day of the year.”

Geralt gives him a half-nod, and gods but doesn’t he look gorgeous with the orange light of the fire dancing over his white hair, and then he takes the dagger out, mouth parted in surprise.

“Oh,” he says, “you — you noticed?”

“I saw you throwing the old one away,” Jaskier laughs, “yeah, I noticed. And I know how to find a good one.”

“Thank you,” Geralt says, putting it over his gear at his back after turning it in his hands for a while. “I — I don’t know how to —”

“Geralt, if you were about to tell something like _repay_ _you_ , save it. I’m your friend,” he says, and doesn’t add _and I wish I was more than that_ , “this wasn’t a hassle to put up, and this wasn’t even anything special. See if next year I don’t come up with something better.”

“… Next year?”

“Well, one would hope that it would become a habit, same as it is with everyone else now, wouldn’t we? This is vastly improvable, for —”

He never finishes that sentence because then Geralt has stood and kicked the chair back and grabbed him by the lapels of his half-opened shirt and pressed his mouth against Jaskier’s, and before Jaskier can reciprocate he’s let go with the face of a man who wishes he _hadn’t_ done it —

Which is why Jaskier is quick to grab Geralt’s wrists and drag him back forward so they’re looking at each other.

“Geralt,” he says, “ _please_ tell me you meant it.”

“Do — do you want me to?” He whispers back.

Oh.

 _He had no idea_.

Jaskier grasps at his wrists tighter. “Geralt, it’s not that _I want you to mean it_ , it’s that I’ve spent _years_ wanting to kiss you and I’ve been in love with you for longer than I care to admit and I never thought you were — you might be interested or I’d have acted on it a long time before, so — _yes_ , but —”

Geralt looks like he’ll faint as he whispers, _and what if I do mean it_.

Jaskier grins back, letting his wrists go but reaching up towards his face, angling it downwards.

“Then I think I have _another_ gift for you, if you like it,” he says, and then he kisses Geralt _properly_ , taking his time, not pushing it until Geralt’s hands grasp his hips and he kisses back tentatively, parting his lips, and then moans a little into Jaskier’s mouth when Jaskier slips a bit of tongue past his lips, and _oh_ , he can taste sugar all over his mouth and he’s _warm_ and solid and he’s about melting into his touch as he lets Jaskier take the lead of the kiss, and Jaskier doesn’t move away until he’s short of breath, and even when he does, he presses a shorter kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth before leaning back enough to look at him. He looks — good, he thinks, clean hair glinting in the firelight, amber eyes staring at him as if he’ll cry for good reasons all over again, flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen mouth.

“I like it,” he whispers.

“Good,” Jaskier says, “because I want to do it again, but before then… what would _you_ want to do now?”

“You can choose,” Geralt replies, earnestly.

“It’s _your_ day,” Jaskier shakes his head. “You choose. Come on, what do you want.”

Geralt breathes in. “Maybe — we could go to bed… after a couple rounds at Gwent?” He sounds so tentative and he’s asking for so little, Jaskier decides that he’s making it his life mission to make sure Geralt aims a bit higher when it comes to _asking for things_.

For now —

He gives him a peck on the mouth before leaning back.

“Sure,” he says, “I’ll get the cards.”

They win one game each and then it’s obvious that Geralt is dead tired, so they end up in bed, but this time instead of staying apart Geralt puts his head on Jaskier’s shoulder, curls his arms around him and draws him close, exhaling in relief when Jaskier holds his shoulders and presses him closer to his chest.

He’s running so hot they would barely need blankets, but Jaskier thinks he doesn’t mind.

He smiles to himself. For being a first try, this birthday came out quite decently.

But next year — next year he will do _better_.

_five: dancing_

“I guess,” Jaskier says as they walk back upstairs, “that I _can_ take a break for once.”

He had planned on performing at the inn they’re staying at tonight, but it turns out that there was already another bard in town and the innkeeper said he had money just for one of them. Then again, for once Geralt _had_ been handsomely paid when he pointed out that killing a nest of drowners wasn’t the same as just one and they didn’t even need to renegotiate the contract, so he supposes that it’s fine if he spends a couple of days without performing. He _could_ have stayed downstairs and taken notes on the performance and maybe talk to the guy, but honestly, he was _tired_ and Geralt obviously was, too, and so he had opted to just go back upstairs with him so they could relax a bit.

Geralt hums in agreement and follows him into their room, but the moment they close the door it becomes clear that it’s just… above the stage, because they can hear the music from downstairs _very_ loud and clear, so there is no way either of them is going to sleep soon.

 _But_ —

But at least the bard in question is no talentless hack, Jaskier decides after half a song — he’s not the best Oxenfurt could offer but he’s not bad either and he can both play and carry a tune, so it could be plenty worse. Geralt mutters something about the two of them needing to come up with something to pass the time before it’s over which from anyone else would have sounded awkward and halting, from Geralt it sounds like a straight come-on, and Jaskier grins back when he says he has _some ideas_ that he could definitely put into practice after they take a wash —

That is, until just as Jaskier finishes drying his face, the guy downstairs goes into a _slow_ ballad that used to be a favorite back when he was a student and would listen to others play rather than braving the stage himself. He smiles, thinking back on it for a moment.

“What’s going on?” Geralt asks as he gets rid of the cloth he used to dry his face.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, “nothing of import. I just recalled that this used to be… very popular a few years ago. I might have asked for a dance or ten when someone was playing it in the inn we used to all go to. In Oxenfurt, I mean.”

“Right,” Geralt says, sounding _maybe_ a bit more clipped than he had before, and Jaskier _would_ let it drop, but for a moment Geralt had _that_ look in his eyes, the one that screams _something else other people think it’s normal but never was for me_.

“Uhm,” Jaskier clears his throat, “not to inquire, but have you ever… like, danced with someone? Just because?”

Geralt looks at him like he has just asked the most stupid question in existence. “It takes _two_ people to dance,” he says. “Who was going to do it with me?”

Jaskier isn’t even going to get angry about it, even if the instinct is strong.

Instead he stands up from the bed and holds out a hand.

“Let’s do it,” he says, without even dignifying it with an answer.

“ _What_?”

“Come on, we can hear him. No one’s bothering us, why not?”

“I don’t even know how to —”

“The way you fight, you sure as hell know what coordination is, which is half of the effort anyway. Who’s going to judge you, _me_? Please,” he says, and he grins very, very widely as Geralt tentatively takes his hand.

He pulls him up, figuring that if Geralt doesn’t know what to do he should explain, and so he gives him a basic rundown of the steps as he leads the two of them around the room, and in the beginning Geralt _is_ pretty much stiff as a rock, but after a couple of rounds he _does_ get the gist, and by the time the song is over he’s _not_ moving back at once, so Jaskier holds on to his waist and waits for the next one —

Which is also thankfully a _nice_ , slow song.

He grins.

“You know,” he says, leading them around the floor again, “we could mix this up a bit.”

“I just got the hang of this,” Geralt mutters, “it’s fine — _what_ ,” he blurts when Jaskier makes him _twirl_ before he spins back in position, and Geralt looks like he’s about to faint here, but it’s also so endearing it makes Jaskier drag his head down and kiss him once, twice, still moving around the floor, and when they part Geralt is giving him _that_ stare, the one where it looks like he’s about to burst at the seams for good reasons, his hands grasping Jaskier’s hand and shoulder tighter.

He doesn’t speak, though, so Jaskier figures he should before it gets weird — he gets them to move again, slower, first.

“You’re good at it,” he says, which is true. “You didn’t stomp on anyone’s feet and you’re coordinated and that spin was flawless. Fancy another few rounds? At least until either _he_ gets tired or we do.”

“Fine,” Geralt agrees, sounding softer than his usual, and Jaskier kisses him once again before spinning him slowly around the room again.

He decides he’s _absolutely_ going to ask Geralt again next time there is a chance to, considering that he’s looking like he’s… well. What passes for _openly enjoying himself_ in Geralt-of-Rivia-ese, and there’s no reason they shouldn’t indulge in it if they can.

And if he’s the first to do it, well. Good for him and pity for everyone else who didn’t take the chance.

_plus one_

“Aren’t you just _gorgeous_ ,” Jaskier says in between kisses, leaning down to catch Geralt’s lips in another kiss, his hands grasping at his face, swallowing the small moan Geralt makes into his mouth when he hears it, and then he leans back to take a good look at him — they’ve both come once already and the sheets will be uncomfortable the moment they’re done, but neither of them gives a damn right now, and Geralt’s hair is spread in silvery strands all over the pillow, and he has his eyes closed still but he also just came in Jaskier’s mouth and he’s obviously still getting his bearings, so he won’t fuss about that.

What he wants to fuss about, though, is how much he really would like to take his time working him open now, and his brain to mouth filter is completely gone when he looks down at Geralt’s half spread legs and blurts, “I _could_ eat you out.”

At that, Geralt _does_ open his eyes, and —

Why does he look _confused_?

“What?” He replies, _sounding_ also confused.

“Wait,” Jaskier blinks, “you mean, that’s — you never did _that_?”

Geralt just stares at him in utter confusion.

“With _that_ ,” Jaskier says, leaning down, “just — with a woman it’s kind of obvious, with a man it means working you open with their tongue.”

Geralt clears his throat. “The first — yes, with women. The second… no? Who was going to propose that? And what’s even the point?”

Jaskier _could_ try and explain it now. He also _could_ let out a string of curses when it comes to Geralt’s apparent shit luck in finding bed partners with some taste.

Or, he could just go ahead and act for once.

“Turn over,” he says, “and I’m going to show you presently, dear.”

Geralt doesn’t look _that_ convinced but he does, and Jaskier _knows_ what display of trust it implies that he doesn’t even stop for a moment before doing it. He waits until Geralt is lying with his stomach on the mattress, makes sure to have some more chamomile oil nearby because it is better safe than sorry, and then grins to himself before leaning down and kissing his way down Geralt’s spine.

Slowly.

He takes his time, his hands brushing along Geralt’s hips as he moves downward, and while in the beginning Geralt had stayed still, by the time his tongue runs across the small of his back he’s gasping, his sides moving upwards as if he wants _more_ , and Jaskier is absolutely in the mind of giving it to him.

So he reaches down, parting the sides of Geralt’s ass very, very slowly and taking his time to feel how _firm_ they feel under his fingers, and then wets his tongue before leaning down and licking slowly, _very_ slowly along his entrance.

Geralt about jerks upwards the moment his tongue touches his skin and Jaskier _really_ liked how the moan that just left his mouth sounded, and so he does it again and _again_ , only barely brushing along the edge rather than just diving down at once, and he keeps on doing it until Geralt is cursing his name and begging him to hurry up.

“Patience,” Jaskier replies, moving away for a moment before leaning back down again and slipping his tongue inside Geralt, not _fully_ but a bit more, and then some more until Geralt has _pushed_ his ass into his face and spread his legs wider himself — at _that_ point, he just goes all in, licking as much tight flesh he can reach, patiently working him open as much as he can, to the point that Geralt is writhing under him and he’s not even caring about how much noise he’s making — _good_ — when he moves back and grabs the bottle of chamomile. Geralt lets out a noise of complaint, but immediately shuts up and starts moaning all over again the moment Jaskier puts his tongue back inside his ass _and_ grabs his dick after coating his hand in oil, giving it slow strokes, and _fuck_ Geralt really has zero refractory period in comparison to him since he’s fully hard again now.

Not that it’s _not_ making Jaskier’s blood sing, and so he keeps on using his tongue on Geralt and tries to match its motions with his strokes until he can physically manage it and he doesn’t feel like _he_ will come in his damned trousers just out of hearing Geralt whine in pleasure against the pillow — he kisses the small of his back again before sitting up, reaching for the oil, coating his hand with it again and slipping two fingers inside Geralt while the other one is wrapped around his dick, slowing down the rhythm, and at that point Geralt is moaning louder than his usual as Jaskier fucks him with his fingers slow and nice and making sure to touch him in the right spot, and _fuck_ but he needs to look at him _now_.

“Hey,” he says, “hey, just — turn over a moment, I need to see you —” He says, moving his hands to Geralt’s hips as he scrambles to do it, and _oh_ , his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are all pupil and he looks _this_ close to letting go and he doesn’t even have to ask before Geralt spreads his legs again, leaving him enough room to slide inside him at once, after coating himself with the last of the oil. Jaskier moans out loud when he finally is inside him, hands going to Geralt’s shoulders as he tries to find the right rhythm all over again as Geralt hooks his calves behind his back.

The noise Geralt makes when he slams inside him and hits exactly the place he had found with his fingertips before, arms going around Jaskier’s shoulders, and Jaskier kisses him again, fingers moving up to the back of his head as he fucks into him again and _again_ —

And then Geralt has grasped at his back hard enough to hurt before coming against his stomach, his entire chest shuddering with it, and at that point Jaskier couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to and lets go after a last thrust, Geralt still clenching around him, and so _maybe_ he blanks out for a moment or two as his blood rushes hot and he spills as he sings Geralt’s name as he drops kisses on his mouth all through his release, and by the time he’s spent and has about fallen on Geralt’s chest without even pulling out he knows for sure that it might have been the first time they do this, but _not surely the last_.

“Hey,” he says later, pulling out and dragging the both of them to the side of the bed that’s not completely wrecked, Geralt following him there without complaining, “see _what was the point_?”

“Yes,” Geralt replies at once, which is almost funny all things considered, moving his head to Jaskier’s shoulder, and they should both definitely wash because Geralt’s hair is sticky with fluids and _all_ of Jaskier that’s not his hair is also sticky with fluids, but — maybe in a bit.

“You think you might want to do it again?” Jaskier asks, not even hiding his amusement. “Because I absolutely am up for it.”

“Wouldn’t say no,” Geralt agrees, closing his eyes as Jaskier’s fingers start running through his hair again —

And then Jaskier realizes that if no one (which is obvious) until now has taken the time to take the man apart when sharing a bed…

“Humor me a moment,” he says. “Does this mean that I could give you a list of things I would _love_ to do to you and you can tell me if you’ve never tried them before? Because that you had never done _this_ was an outrage I had to put remedy to, but I am entirely amenable to do it again.”

“What,” Geralt huffs, “now not having done certain things while fucking is _an outrage_?”

“According to _me_ , if someone has _you_ in their bed and only is fine with the usual three positions it’s an outrage and I’m not accepting other opinions.”

Geralt hums in response and says nothing, and Jaskier figures that they can rest a few minutes before they really have to wash, but then Geralt clears his throat.

“You know,” he says, “I… did notice that you’re taking it to heart.”

“… What exactly?” He replies, knowing that he’s not fooling anyone.

“ _Putting a remedy_ to — whatever it is that I haven’t done before that I absolutely _should_ have tried at least once,” he says after a long, long moment. “You — I mean, I… appreciate it.”

Jaskier, who can hear _how much_ it took him to say _that_ out loud, merely shakes his head and pulls him closer.

“You’re welcome,” he says, “and I absolutely delight in doing it, and if you ever feel like trying something out no need to wait for me to find out what it is. In bed or outside it.” He wonders if he should say it.

Then he figures that there’s no point in holding it back and Geralt _should_ know.

“Full disclosure, in the beginning I… kind of hated it, you know.”

“What?”

“Finding out that no one gave a damn for getting you to do nice things for yourself,” he shrugs. “It drove me mad because it was just so unfair.”

“It’s not —”

“It _is_. But — now, I think I don’t… _hate_ it that much anymore. Not because it’s a good thing, but… well, I think I might not hate that _I_ get to fix it.”

He feels Geralt go still for a moment, and he wonders if he hasn’t gone too far, if it wasn’t _too much_ , if it didn’t sound ridiculous —

But then Geralt sits up straighter, eyes finding Jaskier’s, with the stare of someone who isn’t quite sure what to do with the fact that they’re genuinely touched, fingers grasping his own, and then he speaks, and —

“Well, I… I like that _you_ are the first.”

He confesses it like saying it took a weight off his shoulders, and Jaskier doesn’t think he has words left in him to answer properly and so he moves a hand behind Geralt’s neck and kisses him again, and again —

And he knows that he wouldn’t trade being Geralt’s first at _anything_ for the world.

End.


End file.
